One would think that being told, albeit politely, to fuck off by what was supposedly his wife and son would bruise Jacques' ego, but no. He was fine with it. Actually, he felt a little relieved. They were more than welcome to hash out their little drama without dragging him into it. Family shit was best dealt between family members after all.
Still, he was pissed. Not at them, he figured. Probably.
Pissed at... something. He wasn't sure what yet. It was not exactly an unfamiliar feeling for him; being mad at shit all the time had been practically his default state during his younger years.
He did know why he was pissed at the very least.
'A raging moron,' his dear mother used to call him. That was her go-to when he was a kid. And wasn't that just fucking convenient? She'd piss him off, push every goddamn button, mess with his head until he snapped, and then he'd be the problem. The villain. The one in the wrong.
Yeah, of course, he had rage issues! What else was supposed to happen when the old hag up and left him with a mountain of unresolved mommy issues? It was practically a law of nature.
Blokes with daddy issues? They turn into crossdressing femboys. Blokes with mommy issues? They become angry twats, or, God forbid, Arsenal fans. Lucky for Jacques, he'd been spared that fate. So, silver lining, it could've been worse. Much worse.
A tale as old as his miserable life. And apparently, her being dead, in Hell, and a literal world apart still wasn't enough for bullshit to spare him. He could still feel that familiar heat bubbling under his skin, and the phantom irritation that lingered long after the actual person was gone.
His knuckles cracked form how hard he was gripping his fist, and Jack could already feel the migraine coming.
He raised his fist.
CRACK! Jacques' arm lashed out like a cannon, breaking not just the sound barrier but also the poor, unfortunate wall that had dared to wall in while he was seething. Dust and chunks of plaster exploded outward, leaving a gaping, jagged hole in its wake. The steel frame behind the drywall groaned and bent like it had personally offended him, and a nearby decorative light fixture shook so hard it snapped off, crashing to the floor with a pitiful clatter.
None of the slaves he employed came to check. Maybe the constant noise of the heavy machinery drowned out the chaos. Or maybe, just maybe, they heard and decided it was better to pretend they didn't. Smart choice, really. No one wanted to be the idiot who walked in on Jacques Schnee, current terrorizer of inanimate objects, mid-bitch fit.
He rolled his shoulder, bits of drywall dusting off his sleeve, and shook the dust off his knuckles as he pulled his hand back,
Pathetic. Here he was, standing outside like some kicked mutt, punching walls, and letting old ghosts rile him up while his kid and wife sorted through their shit inside. Not that he cared, of course. He was perfectly fine out here, perfectly fine not getting involved.
Perfectly fine… except for the fact that he wasn't.
So, Jacques did the only reasonable thing a grown adult would do. Pretend!
Got a problem? Don't care. Pretend you don't have a problem! Voilà! Problem solved.
With that little gem of wisdom, Jacques decided to stop caring. He slapped on a a perfect lovely smile, and carried on, heading toward the main section of the house like nothing was wrong.
As he walked, he passed by maids and butlers, nodding at them like the benevolent overlord he pretended to be. The good, upstanding slave driver that he was. Ah, what a shining example of leadership. Probably should pat himself on the back for that one.
Of course, a couple of the staff gave him wary glances like they could sense the bullshit. But that was fine. Let them guess. It wasn't like they were paid to question him. As long as they don't forget they're place, all was well.
On the bright side, some, surprisingly, looked happy to see him or, well, maybe just a bit less terrified of his presence. Small victories, he supposed.
He passed another group of maids, who offered hesitant bows before quickly averting their eyes. As he walked on, their hushed whispers reached his much-improved ears, snippets of half-sentences like, "…at least he's trying…" and "…become better for her…"
Jacques blinked when the words clicking a moment later. Oh, they were from Willow's wing. Of course, they'd be spouting that romantic redemption arc nonsense. He nearly rolled his eyes until it hit him.
This was, in fact, a good thing. A great thing turn of events even! Let them think he was some tragic hero or 'redeemed bad boy' in the making. It could only work in his favor.
They better tell Willow that she could surely fix him! that thought helped his mood a bit, and put an extra, and much needed spring, into his step that guided across the mansion's halls.
He was definitely not fucking mad!
By then, he had already reached the clearing on the left side of the estate, where engineers and technicians were busy alongside guards installing the newest security systems.
The noise was deafening. Machinery roared, metal ground together, and workers shouted over the clanging tools. Sparks flew from welders, and heavy crates thudded as they were moved.
They were definitely working hard and being loud as all hell. So, technically, he hadn't lied to Winter about the noise earlier.
Oh? What security systems? Well, the kind that Jacques—or rather, the nerds and pencil-pushers at the Schnee Dust Company, who work for Jacques so it was still his achievement—had cooked up in collaboration with the Atlas Military, of course.
Cutting-edge tech, top-of-the-line Dust-powered defences, and enough firepower to make any would-be intruder piss themselves. Automated turrets, motion-sensing barriers, encrypted surveillance drones you name it, it was in the works.
And to finish it all off, the entire mansion will be protected by a dome of twelve-layered hard light dust. All in all nothing short of a fucking maiden is getting inside his house uninvited, and even then she'd have a bitch of a time to make it through.
Not that Jacques cared much for the specifics. As far as he was concerned, it was just another box ticked off the "Look How Responsible I Am" list.
Which, to be fair, Jacques absolutely felt was necessary for his continued survival especially since, apparently, his damn house had been broken into. On the first day, no less. By fucking terrorists.
Granted, which terrorists exactly? Jacques was starting to doubt they even existed. It all seemed a little too convenient. So, the day he shows up and locks the house down, terrorists magically break in? And not just anywhere—right where he was busy fighting that oversized livestock? And they're so sneaky he never noticed? Then, they conveniently vanish just as his fight ends? Really?
For a brief moment, Jacques wondered if someone had just mistaken his fight with the Tranquil Deer for some grand terrorist attack.
He dismissed the thought.
No, no. Jacques shook his head. That sort of misunderstanding could never happen. Cartoonish characters as his minions could be, he wanted to have at least a shred of faith in them. otherwise, he might cry.
That type of shit was just bad writing.
Back to the terrorists, they were either scared off by the deer or, more likely, blown to smithereens when the damn thing slammed itself into the storage area, setting off enough Dust to make a small mushroom cloud.
Jacques tanked that shit by the way. When the deer went full battering ram on the Dust storage and set off a localized apocalypse, Jacques stood there like the smug bastard he was, taking the brunt of the explosion like a champ!
Because of course, he did. What else was he supposed to do? Die? Him? Lol, lmao even.
As expected of the sycophants Jacques had come to expect under his payroll, and in the broader circles of the Atlesian military, an important weasel-looking man with a pathetic mustache came scurrying over. No wonder Jacques was proud of his own facial hair; if this was the competition, he'd already won.
"Mr. Schnee!" the lead security coordinator of the Atlesian Military called out, his voice booming with an enthusiasm that Jacques immediately found grating. "An honor to see you, sir! Everything's going splendidly!"
"Is that so?"Jacques raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir!" The man practically beamed as he fell into step beside him. "We've installed 32 state-of-the-art barrier generators—fully operational, of course. The new turrets are motion-sensitive, Dust-powered, and have a 98.7% accuracy rating. Impressive, wouldn't you say?"
Jacques offered a curt nod. "And the drones?" He said gesturing expensively to the little expensive flying things hovering over his expensive house.
"Ah, yes! Twenty-four automated defense drones equipped with shock rounds and tier-two Dust artillery. Calibrated to respond to any breach within 0.5 seconds!" The man puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his team's work.
"Good," Jacques replied flatly, though he didn't entirely hide the edge of skepticism. "And I assume this will prevent any further ...incidents'?"
"Absolutely, sir!" the coordinator declared, though Jacques caught the faintest quiver in his tone. "We've optimized the systems to respond to even the slightest irregularities. No one's getting in—or out—without your clearance!" He rubbed his hands together like a villain in a cheap drama. "Speaking of which, how do you find the Arctech Command Gauntlet? Efficient, isn't it?"
Jacques raised his right forearm bemusedly, where the sleek tip of the 'Arctech Command Gauntlet' peeked from beneath his cuff. Supposedly, it could access everything—the security systems, automated defenses, communication lines, and even emergency weaponry—all linked directly to his Aura. No passwords, no biometric scans. Pure Aura control, thanks to Atlas's autistic obsession with "efficiency" after Watts took douche on their security, and nearly wrecked everything.
Atlas should be thankful that some handsome, charming, lovely, humble, good looking sunnavabitch exposed Watts, whoever may that sexy stud be.
Back to the gauntlet!
"It's... a bit cumbersome in combat. There were several instances where I nearly overstressed its sensors," Jacques muttered. The fight with Piercing Ox would've been much easier if he wasn't worried about breaking the gauntlet. It was also why he kept fiddling with his cuff. At least it wouldn't snap in two if someone sneezed on it.
Non-posh translation: Shit was ass.
"Overstressed... but it's supposed to...?" The technician stared at Jacques and the gauntlet, his eyes wide with disbelief. He hesitated before nodding quickly. "I'll forward your comments to the R&D team," he said, eager to move on now that Jacques wasn't showering the device with praise.
They'd better fix that damn thing. This was his hard-earned (not really) money paying for it, after all. Maybe he should commission that fat guy. What's his name? The one who made the Pinocchio girl android girly...Benny or something. He was supposed to be the best, right?
"See that you do," Jacques said, dismissing the technician with a wave. "Make sure the systems are up before the end of the day."
The technician nodded quickly, looking visibly relieved to be escaping Jacques's displeasure. He scurried off before Jacques could voice any more complaints.
With that, Jacques sauntered into the garden, his hands tucked into his pockets. He figured he'd wait there for either his wife or son to come, once they were finished with their... thing.
As expected of something in house, the Garden was really gardening!
The greenery was lush, and the hedges were trimmed just enough to look impressive, without going overboard. The flowers? They were all over the place in every color imaginable, dotted around like someone had decided to throw a handful of paint at the garden and see what stuck, and it clearly worked. Cheers!
The whole thing probably cost a small fortune, but at least it looked peaceful. Which was nice, because it was the only place in the estate that wasn't constantly making his head hurt.
Jacques dumped his expensive ass onto one of the ornate marble garden benches, the kind that looked like they were carved by some ancient sculptor who only made things for the ridiculously wealthy. It had gold accents, and intricate designs etched into the stone, and probably cost more than some small villages.
He let out a groan as his head rolled back over the top of it, staring up at the sky, trying to ignore the irritation that still simmered beneath the surface. Yeah, pretending not to care wasn't working out as well as he'd hoped. It had been a while since something like this got to him.
Footsteps approached. Great, he fucking jinxed himself. Jacques didn't bother adjusting his posture. Not like he needed to. He owned the place.
"Sieben," Jacques greeted with a blend of flat tone and casual authority that made it clear he wasn't really in the mood for any cryptic bullshit.
"Oh, I'm impressed you knew it was me, sir," Seiben replied with a faint chuckle in his voice.
"Not many people are stupid enough to come to me when I'm pissed," Jacques shot back without missing a beat. "Also, the glare of the sun hitting my eyes kind of gave it away, reflecting off your bald head like a damn beacon."
Sieben chuckled. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended, sir," he said, walking closer with a small, knowing smile. "I merely thought it would do some good to offer you refreshments. You, the Madame, and young Master have been absent from the breakfast table this morning."
"Hmm, well ain't you a dear, Seiben," Jacques gave him a glance that was half appreciative, half sarcastic.
"I take pride in my job, and I aim to please, sir," the Head butler said, setting up a small tray with a teapot, delicate-looking cups, and a few pastries. "May I?"
Jacques waved a hand dismissively. "Go ahead, Seiben," he said, motioning for him to take a seat. "Not like I've got anything better to do than sit here and stew in my own thoughts."
"There are certainly worse ways to spend the time, sir. Sitting with your thoughts beats letting them run wild, though I won't pretend it's always pleasant." Seiben chuckled softly as he sat down.
"Quite." Jacques agreed half-assedly.
"Though if one must brood, I daresay it's preferable to do so with proper upholstery and civilized company. Brooding is frightfully dull when done alone, sir." He glanced around. "Besides, the décor's too nice to waste on a brooding session alone."
The quiet clink of porcelain filled the air for a moment, as Seiben began preparing the tea with practiced hands. Jacques watched the smooth movements of the older man. It was a strange kind of comfort, watching someone who knew exactly how to handle the tiny details.
The silence between them stretched for a while before Seiben broke it yet his eyes were still on the garden. "Have I told you about my love for flowers, Sir?" he asked as his tone shifting to one of pleasant nostalgia.
Jacques raised an eyebrow. "You might have mentioned it a couple months back. I could be misremembering, what with shards of glass stuck in my head at the time."
Baldie gave a quiet laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he looked over at Jacques. "I suppose it wasn't the best time for a flowery discussion, but, yes, my love for them goes back quite a ways." His gaze softened, and he seemed to be lost in the memory for a moment. "There's much peace and tranquillity about them, sir. The way they seem to bloom without hurry, without concern for anything but just being themselves."
The head butler wasn't speaking about the flowers.
Jacques glanced out at the garden and over the color-splashed flowers that dotted the landscape. It was hard to ignore the irony. Here he was, surrounded by the most beautiful things money could buy, and yet... "Maybe you're right. I guess it wouldn't hurt to just... be, sometimes."
Seiben nodded as if understanding what Jacques didn't understand about himself. "Exactly, sir. Sometimes it's nice to just let things be." He gently placed the teacup in front of Jacques.
Jacques glared down at the cup for a moment before picking it up, his fingers gripping the handle with a bit more force than necessary. "Guess there's no harm in that," he muttered, taking a sip. It was warm and calming.
"Not bad," by that he meant this was probably the best tea he ever fucking had.
Sieben's smile widened with a gleam of pride in his eyes. "I should hope not, sir. Few can rival the Head Maid when it comes to preparing such a delicate brew. She insisted, quite fervently, that she be the one to make it for you."
"Ohma?" Jacques said, eying the tea suspiciously. "Should I be afraid that I'm being poisoned?"
"I wouldn't worry about that, Sir," Seiben replied with a chuckle. "Lady Ohma is far more direct than that." He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "And I believe poison would be a poor way of showing her gratitude. She truly appreciates your...efforts."
Ah, this was probably about helping Willow, Jacques thought, setting the cup down with a sigh. Old hag was reading too much into his actions. Not that he minded, but...
The thought went nowhere like all the others before it, so he cut it off.
Ever eager to continue his chatter, Sieben picked up where he left off. "You know, Sir," he said, his voice almost wistful, "flowers aren't just beautiful. They're symbols, you see. Different flowers mean different things ranging from love, peace, to even strength. It's no surprise that many choose to express their feelings using flowers."
Jacques leaned back, eyes still on the vibrant blooms in the garden. "Is that so? A bunch of flowers with hidden meanings...So what's the 'message' behind all these?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the assortment of colors around them.
The head butler smiled softly, but his eyes followed Jacques's movement. "Well, the roses are for love, of course. And the honeysuckles, they represent devotion. But the violets... those, sir, are for faithfulness." He paused, glancing at Jacques with a subtle smile. "A fitting choice, don't you think?"
Jacques scoffed. "Sounds like a load of barnacles, and if not, a lot of pressure for the poor flowers."
"Perhaps, you are right," Seiben continued with a dignified shrug. "But it is lovely to consider. Now, then, Sir, I remember telling you that lilies were my favorite. Do you recall what the white lily symbolizes?"
"Redemption, purity, and rebirth." Jacques sighed and rolled his eyes. "What a persistent bastard. Are you still on about that redemption crap?"
"I take pride in knowing what each flower represents, and my wife does tell me that I am a romantic at heart, Sir. But, I believe that you may be right. In the end, it is action that speaks, not thought or whatever lovely flowers they're expressed in." Sieben, ever the optimist, didn't let Jacques's dismissal dampen his mood. "And speaking of actions, I must confess, your recent, rather striking deviation from habit has become quite the topic of discussion among the house staff."
Jacques took a sip of the tea, his eyes narrowing as he threw Seiben an unimpressed half-lidded look. "I called this place a house of poets last time, but I take it back. You're all nothing but a bunch of gossiping schoolgirls—especially you."
"Ah, but sir, gossip is but a form of... enthusiasm for what's happening around us," he replied smoothly, as though he had heard such remarks many times before.
Jacques rolled his eyes, setting the cup down a bit too forcefully. "More like nosiness with a dash of melodrama." He leaned back against the marble bench, arms crossed. "Not like any of that'll stop even if I leave. They'll be speculating whether or not I'm up to some nefarious stuff. But the jokes on them, I'll be starting a flower shop next."
Sieben leaned forward slightly. "A rather fitting enterprise, sir. You do have an eye for the... dramatic. I cannot wait to witness your shop with my own eyes."
Jacques shot him a sideways glance. "I'm afraid you will not, Sieben. If I do, you're the first one I'm banning from the premises." He paused for a moment, then added with a smirk, "For your own safety, of course."
The older man chuckled again. "I shall try to stay out of the way, sir. But if I may, there's a certain... beauty in the way you've managed to shift things around here. It has not gone unnoticed."
"More gossip about my 'deeply spirited conversation,' I take it?" Jacques scoffed, only half joking.
"Quite right, sir," Seiben confirmed, much to Jacques' surprise. "The study of the young master was scheduled for restocking this morning, and as such, it wasn't quite as empty as you might have believed."
What was he talking—!
"..." Jacques's expression darkened, and he set the cup down a bit more harshly than was proper. Just fantastic. Now the whole damn house knew about his fucking personal issues. Bloody fantastic.
"So, I take it my bitching about my mother is now the water cooler chatter?" he growled, glaring at Sieben. His aura flared in response to his anger. He ignored the warning beeps from his gauntlet, indicating overload, trying to keep his temper in check.
"More like your... profound care and desire for your children to experience the love you believe they deserve," Seiben corrected with a hint of warmth.
"Is that so?" Jacques said. He tried to repeat the same trick Willow taught him to calm himself. It wasn't working.
Sieben looked at him, sensing the bitterness seeping through the facade. "Sir," he said gently, "it's not a matter of gossip, but of understanding. The staff respects you more than you realize. They see the struggle, the burden you carry." He leaned in, his voice softer now. "And it's not just about your mother... it's about your efforts to protect your family, to give them what you didn't have."
Jacques shot him an irritated glance. "Spare me the speech, Klein. I don't need the staff 'respecting' my misery. I'm not some martyr." He exhaled sharply. "Tell them if a word of my relationship with my parents leaves this mansion, I'll be testing the turrets on them."
Sieben's posture stiffened immediately at Jacques' threat, and a slight nod acknowledged the seriousness of the command. "O-Of course, Sir. Your privacy will remain respected as always. Rest assured, no word shall leave these walls."
"Good," Jacques muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Sieben. "If that is all..." Feel free to fuck off went unsaid.
"Of course, Sir," Sieben said once more, his tone as polite as ever. "But if I may say one last thing... I understand that what happened may be unwelcome, but you should know that it was not my intention to anger you or, God forbid, threaten you. I merely wished for you to know that the people here, the staff, they do see your efforts. And despite what you may think, they will not look at you as a figure of pity but of respect." He gave a small bow.
"We are rooting for you, Sir."
Jacques looked at him for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. He let out a long, tired sigh. "Thank you, Sieben. That will be all. I'll call you if I need anything. And tell Ohma that I enjoyed the tea, and the servants... I appreciate their efforts. But no more interruptions in here."
Sieben offered a brief, respectful nod. "It is my duty, Sir. I will take my leave now, but remember, we are here for you."
As Seiben turned and made his way back toward the estate, Jacques leaned back against the marble bench, staring out at the garden. The beauty of it all seemed so distant now, its vibrant colors dulled by his thoughts. He let out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. His fingers rubbed at his temple, trying to shake off the frustration gnawing at him.
Fucking hell, now he's threatening the damn servants.
"Get your shit together, dammit," he muttered under his breath. The last thing he needed right now was to let this get to him.
He need to burn to some steam. He couldn't exactly start wrecking shit as much as he wanted, but there were still ways he could make something half decent of his time.
He clasped his hands together, and Jacques focused on his soul.
He closed his eyes and began visualizing.
....
....
When he opened them again, the sun was now glaring directly down at the earth.
Jacques wiped a hand over his face wearily, trying to shake off the sleep that still clung to him. He blinked a few times, his surroundings coming into focus. He wasn't on the marble bench anymore. Instead, he was lying under the shade of a tree, surrounded by a sea of thousands of small blue and white birds. Weiss—the dog, not his daughter—was curled up on his chest. The dog raised its head, giving him a half-lidded glance before it closed its eyes again, content to rest.
Fuck, he probably dozed off while messing with his shikigami combinations. The dozen hundreds of little birds must've moved him into the shade.
He closed his eyes, and let his head fall.
The sound of footsteps broke the quiet, soft at first, then growing louder as they neared. Jacques turned his head, slightly startled, but the weight of Weiss still on his chest kept him anchored to the ground.
The steps stopped.
Standing there, just at the edge of the shade, was Willow. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. She tried to hide it with a forced glare, and failed miserably. She looked around at the sea of small birds on the ground, next to her feet, and perched in the tree.
"Thousand Bird," he answered her unasked question, as if those two words explained everything. She said nothing else, so it probably did, or it didn't, and she was just out of fucks to give. Same, lady. Same.
With a mental command, Jacques had the sea of blue part to let Willow pass. She walked over and flopped down next to him, hugging her knees and looking ahead.
He looked at her.
she wasn't looking at him.
"You finished?" He asked.
She nodded.
"You went for pity?"
She shook her head vehemently.
"You apologized."
She nodded.
"He lost his shit."
She finally looked at him, if only to glare. Then, her lips wobbled, and she nodded again.
"Ah, well, such is life," he said, leaning back into the bed of birds.
Neither of them spoke after that.
A second later, Schwarz's head popped up from the sea of birds. It looked at Willow with a dopey expression with its tongue lolling out.
Willow looked unimpressed at the massive wolf. It pushed its head closer, clearly seeking scratches, but she ignored it. The wolf stared at her with the same dopey expression, then shoved its huge mug between her hugged knees and stomach and pushed them down.
It dropped its head on her thighs.
Willow looked at it.
It looked at Willow.
Willow sighed, her hand hesitating for just a moment before it reached out to scratch the top of its head. Schwarz's tail thumped softly against the ground in response, clearly pleased. The wolf's tongue flopped out, panting happily as it nuzzled further into her lap. Willow shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
Jacques looked at the scene with a smile on his face. One thought went through his head.
He needed to fuck someone up for his mood to get better.